


Eating Away

by withthekeyisking



Series: Eating Away at What is Good [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Creepy Roman Sionis, Daddy Kink, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Drugged Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Hurt Dick Grayson, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Praise Kink, Roman Sionis is a Bad Person, Underage Drinking, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Seventeen and thrown out by Bruce, Dick has nowhere to go.That is, until Black Mask steps into the picture.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis
Series: Eating Away at What is Good [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616026
Comments: 37
Kudos: 352
Collections: Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	Eating Away

**Author's Note:**

> So a while back I [tweeted a thread](https://twitter.com/writertilldeath/status/1215454154577141760) about Roman finding Dick after Bruce fires him and then the other day I was in the mood to write some Black Mask/Batboy, and my dude [Kura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirth) recommended Roman taking advantage of Dick after Bruce kicked him out post-Jason's death, so I thought why not do both for maximum pain!
> 
> That said, please enjoy :)

Sometime far in the future, Dick will replay this night over and over again. He'll examine his actions, call himself stupid, an idiotic child. He'll point out to himself all the moments that resulted in him ending up where he did, point out how he could've been better and smarter and stronger.

But right now, Dick's standing in the rain, alone, and has no idea what to do next.

He pulls his hood further down over his face and hunches his shoulders. It's cold and wet and he's tired and devastated and he has no idea what to do now. He's seventeen years old and his dad—

Dick's got nothing and no one. Where is he supposed to go? What is he supposed to do? Bruce threw him out and didn't look back, didn't hesitate, leaving his son to fend for himself out in the world with nothing more than a worn hoodie, jeans, a pair of sneakers, and fifteen bucks in his pocket.

_Get out of my house._

Dick digs his nails into his palms in an attempt to ward off tears, focusing on the pain instead of the storm in his head, instead of the blank, uncaring look on Bruce's face as he fired him, as he kicked him out.

_Bruce, please, I—_

_You're fired._

A sob rattles his chest before he can suppress it, and he bares his teeth at nothing, disgusted with himself. He's afraid. He's tired. He's—he's alone.

There's no one he can turn to. Any hero he goes to would surely follow Bruce's lead and not let him in; he's the Batman, after all, and his word is law. Everyone Dick trusts enough to go to in an emergency like this is in the superhero community, and thus not an option.

He clenches his hands tighter.

"Get your shit together, Grayson," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn of tears. "Get your shit together."

He'd taken his bike out of the cave and away from the Manor, but forced himself to pull over when he felt himself beginning to shake, not wanting to go crashing to the ground. An accident is the _last_ thing he needs right now. He made it into the city though, close to a bus stop. He can see it from where he stands, and fifteen dollars is definitely enough for a ticket to just get away.

But there's no _away_ to get to. He has nowhere to go.

He can see a bar from where he stands, too.

Dick jogs across the street, shoulders hunched against the cold rain, and then stops outside the bar, staring up at the flickering neon sign. He's never really been a drinker, all of Bruce's lessons and lectures burned into his mind, and never really liked the idea of being inebriated anyway. Being out of control is not his thing.

But right now? Yeah, he could definitely use something to dull his mind for a little while, dull the pain gnawing at his heart.

_I said get out!_

Dick walks forward, pushing the door to the bar open. The warm air inside hits him and he lets out a little sigh of relief, some of the tension easing out of his body now that he's not being buffeted by rain. It's just past nine at night, so there's a good crowd inside, but barely anyone glances at him when he enters. The ones that do, however, give him odd looks. He can understand that—he doesn't exactly look his best right now—but he ignores them, approaching the bartop.

"Three shots of vodka," Dick says as soon as the bartender has turned to look at him. He tries to sound firm, like he knows what he's doing, but the unimpressed eyebrow the guy raises probably means he didn't pull it off too well.

"You old enough to drink, kid?" the man asks dubiously, clearly already knowing Dick's not.

Dick considers his answer, and then raises an eyebrow right back. "Does it matter?" It's not like they're in the good part of Gotham, where everyone gets carded. This is just _Gotham._

The bartender snorts and says, "Alright." He turns away and then returns with three shot glasses and a large bottle of clear liquor, pouring the vodka into the glasses. When he's finished he looks at Dick, expression still dubious, and says, "Costs seven-fifty. You even got money, kid?"

Dick pulls the ten out of his pocket and slaps it on the counter and then—before he can lose his nerve—downs the three shots in quick succession.

It _burns._ He's tried alcohol before, gotten that warm feeling in his chest, but this is different, like someone lit a fire under his skin. He fights against the urge to cough, to ask for a bottle of water.

The bartender is watching him incredulously, but he takes the ten and gives Dick his change. "You puke in my bar and I'll throw you on the street," he warns.

The burning is starting to die down a little, the fire spreading out and warming his body. His head's going a little spacey. It feels...good.

"I won't," Dick tells the bartender firmly, feeling it's very important to assure the man. "Can I have a glass of whiskey? _Neat._ My dad always—" That pulls Dick up short, the memory of Bruce ordering a drink whenever they go out to dinner, but never actually drinking it. It's petty, but Dick wants to drink one now, a small _fuck you._ "I'd like one. A _double._ "

"Jesus Christ," the bartender mutters, shaking his head. He's eyeing him now, but he _does_ pour Dick the requested drink, telling him, "That's seven bucks."

Dick pulls the five out of his pocket and pays the requested amount, reaching for the glass on the bartop.

"Sit down," the bartender tells him, nodding to an unoccupied table a few feet away. "Got a feeling you'll be barely coherent in a bit, and I'd rather not have to drag you off the floor."

Dick grins at him, feeling a little loopy. His head feels light, like it could float right off his shoulders. _He_ feels like he could float. "Aye, aye, captain!" Dick announces, barely noticing the bartender roll his eyes, and picks up his glass before heading over to the pointed-out table. His balance feels a little off, but he's Dick Grayson of the Flying Graysons, he's _Robin,_ so he makes it to his new seat without stumbling.

That's when his brain reconnects. He's _not_ Dick Grayson of the Flying Graysons, because they're dead. And he's _not_ Robin, because Bruce took it away from him.

He takes a big sip from the glass in his hand to try to get rid of that thought. It doesn't burn as much as the vodka, but it still hurts, and he hiccups, then giggles at the sound. And then he giggles at the fact that he's giggling.

He doesn't know how long he sits there before someone approaches him. He should've picked up on it long before the man was right next to him—Bruce would chastise him for his inattention—but as it is he doesn't notice until he feels the body heat, the man standing right next to his seat, ever so close.

Dick blinks and tilts his head up to look at the man. He's big, definitely over six feet and with bulging muscles and a square face, a nose that's definitely been broken a few times. He's smirking down at Dick, a flash of teeth that normally would set Dick on edge—screaming _danger_ —but right now doesn't even register.

"Hi," Dick says pleasantly, smiling back. Everything feel slow and floaty and happy; he wants to spread around this feeling, make everyone as light as he is.

"Hey there," the man replies, smile growing, eyes dark. "What are you doing all alone, beautiful?"

Dick blinks heavily. He doesn't think anyone's called him _beautiful_ before, and he doesn't know how he feels about it yet. Still, it's a nice thing to say, he supposes. People are so _nice,_ aren't they?

"I—" Sadness bubbles in him as he registers the question, his eyes stinging. "My dad kicked me out," he says, voice wobbly. He's—he's _alone._ "He-he told me to get out—" No, he wants the floaty feeling back, he wants to be happy again, he doesn't want to think about this.

"Aw," the man coos, "poor baby." He shifts closer, one arms sliding over the back of Dicks chair, the other bracing on the table right in front of Dick. It makes Dick feel extremely small, trapped, and he doesn't like it. "Why don't you let me help you feel better?" The hand around the back of his chair strokes a thumb across his cheek, making Dick furrow his brow.

"No, I..." Dick tries to shift away, but the man just moves with him, smile not fading.

"C'mon, baby, don't be like that," he says. "I'll make you feel _real_ good."

"Thompson," a sharp voice calls out, and the man goes rigid, expression spasming. "Time to go. You can get your dick wet another time."

The man scowls, a deeply unhappy and _mean_ look, and it makes Dick shudder just a little, wanting to get away. He just wants to be floaty again. He wants the man to stop sucking all the happy energy.

"Yeah, Boss," the man grumbles, and straightens, pulling away from Dick.

Dick's eyes move to where the other voice came from, the man's 'boss', and his breath catches in his throat, because he might be drunk but he's not blind, and there's not many people who look like the criminal Black Mask.

The glance Roman Sionis gives him as he moves to the door is dismissive, clear even through the mask, but then he halts and looks again, head cocking. Dick stares dumbly back, eyelids heavy. Sionis slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks and then takes a couple strolling steps towards Dick.

"I know you," the mobster comments. "Grayson, right? Wayne's boy."

"Dick," Dick says, because it makes sense to him that he should correct his name. He hears someone snort, someone else give a small laugh, both of whom cut off when Black Mask tilts his head towards them.

"That's my name," Dick supplies into the following silence. He realizes the entire bar is silent, has been for a while, maybe ever since Black Mask and his men entered. "Dick. Richard." He hiccups. "Hi."

He gets the impression of a smile from Sionis. "Right. My mistake." He takes another step towards Dick, standing behind the seat across from the teen now. "What are you doing here, Richard?" His chin tips like he's looking Dick up and down, and then at the window, where you can clearly see it's still pouring. "You're not exactly dressed for the weather. And this isn't exactly an establishment Wayne would approve of, is it?"

Dick wishes people would stop reminding him of why he's here, what Bruce did. His lip trembles, and when he doesn't say anything, the man from before— _Thompson,_ Dick thinks he was called—steps forward and says, "He told me his dad kicked him out, Boss."

Sionis' attention seems to sharpen even further on Dick, and it makes Dick shiver. "Well then. Andrews, bring the car around."

"Yes, Boss," another man says, and ducks outside.

"Why would he do that, Richard?" Mask asks, and his voice is deceptively gentle, low and smooth and soft. Dick wants a blanket of that sound, wants to wrap himself up in it and let it protect him against the world.

Dick can't form the words, can't explain. He just sniffles and sways a little in his seat. He finds that he likes the feeling of swaying, and keeps doing it.

There's a small sound from Sionis, something like a sigh, and then he asks, "Why are you _here,_ Richard?"

Dick shrugs his shoulders, a disorganized and jerky motion. It sends him a little off balance, and his sway becomes a bit more dramatic for a moment before he rights himself, catching himself before he collapses to the ground. "Nowhere else to go," Dick says miserably. "Bruce is...I don't have anybody else."

Black Mask hums. One of his men standing by the door looks over and announces, "Andrews is back with the car, Boss."

Sionis doesn't acknowledge the words. Dick is tempted to point out that the street in front of the bar is a No Parking and No Idling area, so they shouldn't keep his car there for too long, but Dick figures the Black Mask doesn't have to worry overly much about parking tickets, does he?

"It's not safe here, Richard," Sionis tells him. "Let me take you somewhere safer."

"I shouldn't," Dick replies, the first thing to come to his brain.

"Why not?"

"Because you're a criminal," Dick points out dumbly. He's vaguely aware that his words are slurring slightly, and with all his swaying the room is definitely spinning. Is it spinning for everyone else, too? "Bruce would be angry." _Batman_ would be incensed. He'd ground him for _weeks_ for doing something so stupid and dangerous.

"But he kicked you out," Black Mask points out right back, and it _hurts._ "He's supposed to be your guardian, and he sent you out onto the street with nothing on you and nowhere to go. Those aren't the actions of a caring father. Does he truly have a right to dictate your actions from here?"

Tears sting Dick's eyes. Every emotion feels heightened right now, unstable and wild, and Dick just wants to cry. He wants to go _home,_ to have Alfred make him some hot chocolate and take a warm shower to get rid of the chill the rain forced into his bones. He wants to sleep off his drunkenness and he wants Bruce to apologize, to tell him he was wrong, that the Manor will always be his home.

But he's not going to get any of that.

Black Mask steps around the table towards him and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Come on, Richard. This isn't a safe place for someone like you. Let me get you out of here, go someplace better."

Dick stares at the hand on his shoulder, barely comprehending it, and then up at the man. Roman Sionis is a very bad man, one of the worst. He doesn't get as much notice as the Joker or Penguin or Two-Face, but Dick knows how dangerous the mobster is, has seen enough of it firsthand as Robin.

But he doesn't seem like a bad man right now. Through the lenses of his drunken glasses, he seems like a _kind_ one. Bruce is supposed to be a hero but he threw Dick out like he's nothing, like he's never been anything important. And yet here Roman Sionis is, offering him a place to go, to be looked after.

"Okay," Dick says hoarsely. "Okay."

The hand on his shoulder squeezes a little in approval, and then pulls Dick up to his feet. Dick stumbles, the world around him twisting, and doesn't fight when Black Mask pulls him against his side and wraps a supporting arm around his waist.

As they approach the door, one of Sionis' men opens an umbrella and steps outside, so they don't have to worry about the rain as they walk to the car. Black Mask is tall like Bruce is, so Dick rests his head against the man's shoulder and closes his eyes, letting the man direct him into the car when they reach it.

Sionis sits very close once they're in the car, closer than is necessary with how spacious the car is, but he's solid and warm and still kind so Dick doesn't protest. He feels so _tired,_ practically melting back against the leather of the seats, and when Black Mask wraps an arm around his shoulders and tucks him against his side, he lets him.

"Where’re we going?" Dick mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes, breathing slowly. Sionis is wearing some kind of cologne, and it smells expensive and rich, like something Bruce might buy. It reminds Dick of the fact that when Black Mask isn't being _Black Mask,_ he runs in the same social circles as the Wayne family.

"My penthouse," Sionis tells him. Dick can't see him with his eyes closed, but the way the man's breath washes across his cheeks and lips tells him that their faces must be very close together indeed.

"Why're you doing this?" Dick asks next.

There's a pause, and then a deep chuckle. "Ask me again in a few days, Richard."

Dick wrinkles his nose at the comment, but doesn't pull away. "I'm not gonna stay with you for a few days."

Another low chuckle. "Sure, sweetheart."

The car falls silent after that, and Dick focuses on his breathing and the patter of rain hitting the roof. Black Mask's arm is firm around his shoulders, his gloved hand stroking his upper arm idly. Dick isn't sure whether or not he likes the touch. He doesn't have the energy to consider it further, or to pull away.

Dick doesn't keep track of time well, and soon enough they're pulling to a stop, Sionis guiding him out of the car. Dick stumbles, his feet no longer wanting to listen to him, but Sionis' grip doesn't falter, easily keeping Dick upright and by his side as they make their way across a fancy lobby and then into an elevator. Dick lets him lead, once again resting his head on the man's shoulder, eyes sliding shut, feet moving artlessly across the floor.

"Start a bath, McKenzie," Sionis orders someone. "Thompson, grab a shirt and sweatpants from my room that would fit him."

There's an echo of agreements, and they bounce back and forth in Dick's mind, a never-ending echo as he goes where he's pulled.

Soon, Black Mask's arm slides away from his waist, slowly lowering him to sit on something. Dick blinks his eyes open blearily, looking up at the vague imprint of a person in front of him. The person reaches out and his vision settles a little, letting him see Black Mask. Sionis is reaching for his hoodie, unzipping it and pushing it off his shoulders.

"What're you doin'?" Dick asks, leaning away a little. No, this isn't right. He...shouldn't be here. He shouldn't let his clothes be taken off.

"Your clothes smell like Gotham rain and shit whiskey," Sionis informs him, succeeding in getting the hoodie off then tossing it somewhere else. Dick stares at where it landed numbly. "And you could do with a bath. That sounds nice, doesn't it? A nice, warm bath. Get that chill out of you."

It... _does_ sound nice. A bath and sleep, that sounds good.

He lets Black Mask pull his shirt over his head, limbs heavy and uncooperative. "Isn't that interesting," he hears the man murmur, attention on his newly revealed skin, but he doesn't have the energy to see what scar's caught his attention, or come up with some story for it. He's got a story for each of them, curtesy of Bruce. He can't remember a single one right now; if Sionis asks, Dick doesn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from telling the truth.

 _A gunshot wound from one of Two-Face's men. A burn from one of Joker's plots. A knife wound from Penguin's brief attempt to torture him._ And on and on and on. A patchwork of scars, his rewards for eight years of serving as a hero.

Eight years that are now over.

His shoes and socks are removed. His belt comes undone, and then his button and zipper, and it feels like it's happening to someone else as Black Mask removes his jeans and underwear, tossing them over with his hoodie and shirt.

Dick looks up and wishes Sionis would remove his mask so he could see his eyes, see what he's looking at as his head tilts subtly up and down. It makes Dick suddenly aware of the fact that he's actually naked in front of a fully-clothed mobster, a man without morals, who kills without discrimination and just about runs the board for the kinds of crimes someone could commit.

Why did he come here? What is he _doing?_ He just wants to go _home._

But he can't go home. Bruce doesn't want him anymore. No one wants him.

"You're gorgeous," Black Mask murmurs, and then his arm goes back around Dick's waist, hoisting him to his feet. He shivers at the feeling of the leather glove wrapping around his hip, at the feeling of Sionis' expensive suit brushing against his bare skin. This...isn't right. None of this is right.

He's led over to a tub, only just realizing that he's in a bathroom. The tub is filled with water, faintly steaming, and his feet are uncooperative as he's moved into the tub, some water sloshing over the edge.

"Ah," Dick says, releasing a breath as he sits down, surrounding by warm water. It feels so good, and he lets his eyes close again, his head dipping forward. The room is silent save his breathing, and Dick could really go right to sleep, he really could. He's so exhausted; this day has been so stressful, so much _everything._ He wants to sleep and then wake up from this nightmare in his bed at home.

Leather-covered fingers grip his chin lightly and lift his head for him. Dick opens his eyes, wishing he could just keep them closed, and blinks up at Black Mask through his fringe.

"Drink this," he's instructed, a glass in Sionis' other hand lifting in front of his mouth.

Dick furrows his brow at the blue liquid. "What is it?"

"Something to help you relax."

Dick already feels pretty relaxed, his body warm and heavy, but his mind is still a mess, so maybe this is supposed to help with that.

He parts his lips, allowing Black Mask to slowly pour the liquid into his mouth. He swallows each mouthful, and shivers when Sionis tells him, "Very good, Richard."

Everything gets pretty distant after that.

He feels Black Mask drag a wet washcloth over his skin, warm and bubbly with soap. He feels so sensitive, his head buzzing with the sensation, like the swipe of the washcloth is the only thing tying him to earth, everything else background noise.

Sionis tilts him back and he goes willingly, letting his head tip in the water to wet his hair. He's straightened immediately after, and Sionis begins rubbing shampoo into his hair. It feels good, soothing, and he leans into the touch, eyes closed and breathing even.

"Good boy," Sionis tells him as Dick compliantly lets him move his body this way and that. Dick's chest tightens, the words hitting him harder than if he was in his right mind. He feels tears sting his eyes and he doesn't have it in him to hold them back, so they fall, his body shaking.

"Oh, sweetheart," Black Mask says, something in his voice Dick can't identify. "What's wrong?" He tilts Dick back again, washing the shampoo out of his hair.

"He doesn't want me anymore," Dick says, voice thick with tears. Sionis swipes a hand soothingly up and down his spine, and Dick's breath hitches, the touch leaving fire in its wake. He wonders, distantly, what was in the blue drink. "No one wants—I don't have anyone."

Black Mask hums. There's the sound of a zipper, leather rustling, and then a pair of lips press an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder. Dick makes a strangled sound, surprised, and his breathing grows heavier as the mobster keeps it up, kissing across his shoulder and up his neck and then tilting his head up to kiss him on the mouth.

Dick lets him, his body and mind feeling too heavy, too spaced out, to complain about anything. Black Mask licks into his mouth, and the hand on Dick's spine slips around to his front, then down, the leather glove wrapping around his soft cock.

 _"Gah,"_ Dick gasps, jerking, but his body doesn't respond to him, instead listening to Sionis. His head tilts further to a better angle for the man to kiss him senseless, his cock begins to harden for the man's touches. He—this is all too much, he can't think, his body's _burning_ under Black Mask's hands, his limbs unresponsive, his head floating away from his body.

"But who wouldn't want you?" Black Mask coos at him, mouthing at his jaw. Dick pants. _"I_ want you, Richard. You're so perfect. So good for me."

Another strangled sound forces its way out of his throat at the words, and they play like a mantra in his mind. After Bruce reaming him out, telling him how much of a failure he is, it feels amazing to hear someone tell him that's he's good. He's not a complete fuck up. And—and he's _wanted._

"There we go," Black Mask purrs as Dick's hips thrust up unconsciously into the firm grip the mobster has on his cock. "Just let Daddy take care of you."

Dick comes with a shout, the sound swallowed down by Black Mask as the man pulls him into a deep, _claiming_ kiss. Dick remains pliant, his orgasm sending him even further into a floaty, happy place. He barely notices Black Mask draining the tub, and his limbs are slow to respond when Mask gets him up and out.

He's pulled into another kiss, and leans heavily against the other man, Sionis taking a majority of his weight. Dick feels like he could collapse at any second, like there's a string keeping him afloat and it could so easily be cut. The thought of simply drifting away scares him, so he clutches at Black Mask, trying to anchor himself.

Mask makes a pleased sound that hits Dick deep in his core, and then leans him against the wall, pulling away. Dick gasps as he's left alone, his skin crawling, his body burning. He's—he's alone, adrift, it's dark and Bruce doesn't want him and he's _alone—_

"Hush, pet," Sionis shushes him, then there's cloth rubbing against his skin, and it _hurts,_ scratching like sandpaper, and he whimpers. "Sh, shh, Daddy's got you, I'm just drying you off. You're so _sensitive._ Seems I can give the go ahead to put it on the market; people'll _love_ this stuff."

The towel drops away and Sionis once more wraps an arm around him, leading him out of the bathroom. Dick's vision is blurry, not letting him see where they're headed, so he leans his weight on Black Mask and goes where he's told.

They stop soon enough, and the surface Dick's lowered onto is soft and malleable, and he lets out a pleased sigh as he lies back, relaxing into the bed. Black Mask moves him further up the bed and he lets him, body loose and pliant. His arms are left alone, but his legs are spread, and the bed dips as Sionis gets onto it between Dick's thighs. The leather of his gloves is butter-soft as Black Mask strokes his skin.

"What a sight you make," the mobster sighs, one hand sliding up Dick's abs and chest, settling around his neck. A bit of pressure has Dick's jaw falling open, head tilting back, and Black Mask makes an approving noise. "Good boy."

The hands retract for a moment, and then Dick's hips are being lifted slightly, a pillow placed underneath him. One of his hands returns to Dick's thighs, but it dips lower, and Dick can feel the cold gel on the leather glove as Black Mask pushes a finger inside of him.

Dick makes a noise of complaint, trying to shift away, but Black Mask easily holds him in place, other hand a firm presence on his hip as the finger begins to pump in and out.

Another finger gets added soon after. Dick manages to get out a weak _"No,"_ but Sionis acts like he doesn't even hear him, scissoring him open with quick, efficient movements.

A third finger. Dick keens in distress.

Four, and his breath is hitching with unshed tears.

Then the fingers are gone but something else replaces it, and Black Mask is on top of him and inside him and his breath is hot against Dick's face and his suit is pins and needles against Dick's body. He squirms, wanting to get away.

"Be good for me, baby," Sionis pants. "Don't you want to be good?"

And Dick—yes, he just wants to be good, he wants to not be a failure, he wants _someone_ to take care of him and tell him everything is going to be okay.

"That's right," Black Mask purrs, and Dick realizes he must've said some of that out loud. "I'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart. You've just got to be a good boy. Can you be good for Daddy?"

Dick nods, breath hitching as Black Mask picks up. He's never had anyone inside of him before. He wants a do-over. "Y-yeah, I..." That's all he can manage before the mobster thrusts deeper, brushing something that lights sparks all over Dick's body. He feels his cock twitch.

"Say it, baby," Black Mask orders. His voice is breathy now as he gets closer to finishing. "Say it."

"I-I'll be good for you," Dick gets out, impressed with himself for actually stringing words together coherently, when he feels anything but. "I want to be good for—for Daddy."

Black Mask groans and leans down, biting Dick's shoulder, hard enough that Dick knows it'll bruise. It hurts—making Dick whimper—but not in the sharp way it should, his senses still playing tricks. What was in that blue drink?

"Good boy," Black Mask growls against his skin, and then after a few more harsh thrusts, he comes inside Dick.

* * *

Waking up is a slow process, his body coming into focus bit by bit.

He has a chest, with a beating heart, first. And then there are his fingers and toes, tingling faintly as he twitches them. And then he has a head, and a very dry mouth with it, and a mind filled with cotton swabs. Then arms and legs. Then a neck and an ass and a penis and all the extra parts filter in until he's an entire person, spread out on silk sheets.

He lies there for a moment, holding onto this in-between moment where he feels warm and safe and content. There's a blanket pulled up over his body, and when he shifts he can feel that he's wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.

There's something just beyond his reach, something beyond his eyelids. Something he needs to know. But he's warm and safe and content and he wants to stay that way, so he keeps his eyes closed, burrowing further under the blankets, breathing in the scent that clings to the pillow, woodsy shampoo and some kind of cologne. Smells expensive. Like—

Oh.

Dick pulls in a deep breath, lets it out, and then opens his eyes.

The bedroom is sparse but tasteful, kind of like a hotel. High-end for sure. There's a large window on one wall, the curtains pulled back to show a view of Gotham from way up high. Dick's always liked Gotham from this perspective, swinging across rooftops and jumping between buildings.

That's not why he's this high this time.

He slowly pushes himself into a seated position, wincing as his body protests the movement. His head is starting to throb, the bright sunlight streaming in not helpful, and he chooses to focus on that pain rather than the one in his ass.

The night before is...vague. A blur. He knows the generals but the specifics are giving him trouble. Getting drunk, Black Mask showing up, getting in the car, getting in the tub, getting in the bed...

"He lives."

Dick head jerks over to the door, squinting at the man standing in the doorway. Black Mask looks as impeccably dressed as he always does whenever Dick's seen him, and he's not wearing the mask. Dick's glad for it; there's something unnervingly intense about the way Sionis is looking at him, but it's still better than having to stare at that thing he wears. At least this way, Dick can see his eyes, read his expression. The mask is just...nothingness.

"How do you feel?" Black Mask continues when he doesn't say anything.

Physically, or emotionally? Because both are pretty up in the air.

"Okay," Dick says, which isn't quite true for either category, but it's all he can think to say. "My head hurts a little," he offers when Sionis just continues to watch him. "And my memory's a bit..." He raises a hand and tilts it back and forth.

Black Mask hums and nods, then approaches the bed. Dick tenses, shifting away, but it doesn't seem to bother the man, standing at the edge of the bed and looking down at him.

"A shame," Sionis comments. "My memory's perfectly intact and it was _quite_ the night."

Dick's stomach rolls.

"I'd like to leave," he says quietly, gaze on the floor.

"And go where?"

Dick blinks, and looks up at Black Mask, lips parting. The mobster stares back, completely unbothered, waiting for an answer.

"I..."

"Because as I recall," Black Mask muses, "you don't have anywhere to go. Your father kicked you out, and no one wanted you."

The words hit him like knives, Bruce's uncaring expression flashing through his face, the angry curl of his lips when Dick hesitated to leave.

_Get out of my house!_

_You're fired._

"I don't know," Dick whispers, and hunches over himself, arms wrapping around his midsection. "I don't—I—"

"The person who's supposed to protect you from everyone and everything cast you out," Sionis says, rubbing it in. "The one person who's supposed to love you decided you weren't good enough anymore."

That hits even harder, the unintended second meaning of not only being kicked out of the Manor but having Robin ripped away from him as well. He isn't good enough, not as a son and not as a hero. He's worthless. He's—

Black Mask takes ahold of his chin, lifting his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"But you're good enough for me, Richard," the man murmurs, deceptively gentle. "You're welcome to stay with me; I'll accept you with open arms."

And Dick— _longs._ Longs to be wanted, accepted, desired, _loved._ He wants someone to hold him and tell him he's not worthless, that he's good enough, that just because Bruce doesn't think he's anything anymore doesn't mean the entire world thinks that way.

Well. Someone's basically doing that now, aren't they? Black Mask is offering all of the above, boldly claiming he's good enough, that he's welcome here.

But this is still _wrong,_ Dick has to remind himself. Roman Sionis is a despicable human being. What kind of person is Dick for considering this?

"No, I—I don't want this," he says, trying to shake his head. Black Mask's grip on his chin simply tightens.

"Oh?" Sionis asks, cocking his head. He seems to loom over Dick, leaning over the bed and forcing Dick's neck even further into an arch. "You sure about that?" He pushes Dick back and then climbs on top of him, bracketing his head with his arms, legs pinning Dick's own to the bed. "Because you seemed to have a very different opinion last night."

Dick's memory is—fuzzy. But he remembers the word _No_ coming out of his mouth. Doesn't he? But he remembers coming, too, which means he must've enjoyed it.

"No, you drugged me," Dick says, because he remembers the glass with the blue drink inside of it, but his voice comes out unsure. "That's not—consent."

Black Mask chuckles and lowers his head, breath tickling Dick's skin as his lips run softly up the curve of Dick's neck. Dick's hands ball into fists at his sides, but he doesn't try to attack.

"I just helped you to relax, sweetheart. The rest was all you."

"No, I—"

 _"Yes,"_ Sionis disagrees, voice so firm and sure of himself that it makes Dick falter. He wishes he could _remember_ everything. "You came in my hand, and you moaned when I called you a good boy, and then you spread your pretty legs for me and called me _Daddy_ as I fucked you."

Dick's cheeks burn. No, no that didn't happen. Did it? He opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a strangled burst of air as Black Mask sucks on the sensitive skin on the underside of his jaw.

"It's okay, baby," Sionis purrs, grinding his hips downward. Dick can feel that he's already hard. "Daddy'll take good care of his good little boy."

And Dick—

surrenders.

**Author's Note:**

> So originally this was gonna be three chapters, with ch1 being Dick at 17 (the first time he's with Black Mask), ch2 being him at 19 (the second time Black Mask gets him), and the third being Dick at 26 where some fallout occurs (I don't want to spoil it lol). But this was such an _ending,_ you know? I didn't want to put any other chapters.
> 
> So, instead, this'll be a [series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616026). Because obviously I don't have enough series. However a majority of it _is_ already written since the plan was to publish the entire thing at once, so the next parts will be coming out in the next few days, my dudes. I promise! I am notoriously bad at that lol, but I pinky promise.
> 
> Comments always welome, and see y'all soon!
> 
> EDIT: There is now some wonderful [fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513889) for this fic! Y'all should absolutely check it out!


End file.
